What is it like to be a song,
the many notes that rise and fall?
It's like walking with the wind, cheek to cheek, skin to skin.
And when the proud trees gently swoop down,
As if bowing to an invisible force,
A slow haunting music begins to rise from the very depths of my neglected Soul.
At the very point where I stand,
I'm complete, I am.
If this isn't love, then what is?
For everything I see, I hear it first,
I feel its pulsating rhythm softly calling out to me.
Touched,
Stroked,
As if by a light hand ruffling my hair.
It is but Nature's way of proclaiming its love,
Like a newborn calf slides out into the world,
Gently licked dry by her mother's touch.
the many notes that rise and fall?
It's like walking with the wind, cheek to cheek, skin to skin.
And when the proud trees gently swoop down,
As if bowing to an invisible force,
A slow haunting music begins to rise from the very depths of my neglected Soul.
At the very point where I stand,
I'm complete, I am.
If this isn't love, then what is?
For everything I see, I hear it first,
I feel its pulsating rhythm softly calling out to me.
Touched,
Stroked,
As if by a light hand ruffling my hair.
It is but Nature's way of proclaiming its love,
Like a newborn calf slides out into the world,
Gently licked dry by her mother's touch.
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| The Song of the Sufi Masroof |
1 comment:
In this world of the blind, you see pretty well.
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